Chasing Dreams

Day 1 and Day 2 on the Camino could not have been more opposite of each other.

Same backpack.
Same shoes.
Same country.

Completely different experience.

And honestly, it felt symbolic of life itself.

Day 1

Sacavém to Vila Franca de Xira
27 km walked.
One espresso. Two beers. Two pastries.

My cup was so full I don’t think another drop could have fit into it.

By the time I checked into my hostel, my feet and hips were screaming. I’m incredibly thankful I listened to a fellow Facebook pilgrim who recommended bringing a tennis ball to roll out my arches and muscles. Whoever you are — thank you. You may have saved this journey.

The walk out of Sacavém reminded me of home. Living near Little Quill, I’m used to seeing migratory birds gather each spring. Sacavém sits along the Tagus River and the Tagus Estuary wetlands, where thousands of birds stop during migration.

The boardwalk stretches above marshlands lined with grasses and fragrant flowers, and for long stretches I simply walked quietly, taking it all in.

Around the 6 km mark, I spotted my first pilgrim.

We greeted each other, chatted briefly, and then naturally fell into step together. He was from England, newly retired, and like me, had left family behind to do something meaningful for himself. He had already walked both the French Way and the Camino through Spain, so I soaked up every bit of advice he offered.

We shared a similar goal of averaging close to 30 km a day. His best tip — learned during his military years — was to stop every hour for a couple of minutes.
“Not too long,” he warned. “Your body seizes up.”

We walked and talked together for nearly 19 km.

And that’s the thing about connection — it changes your relationship with time and effort. Kilometres disappear inside conversation. Discomfort softens. The road somehow feels lighter when someone else is carrying part of the moment with you.

Eventually we parted ways in Alhandra, and I continued on toward Vila Franca de Xira.

I found the cutest hostel with English-speaking hosts and was given the key to Room #5. Climbing three flights of stairs after 27 km felt like a personal attack. Every muscle in my body objected.

Inside were two bunk beds. I claimed a bottom bunk and wondered who else might arrive that night.

Over the next few hours, two roommates appeared — one from Scotland and one from Belarus. The Scotsman and I connected quickly and decided to head out for a beer. Through a mix of hand gestures and hopeful facial expressions, we invited Alex from Belarus, but he declined.

As we left the hostel, the Scotsman casually asked,
“Do you have your passport?”

I did.

Then he followed with,
“Do we really trust a man from Belarus with our things?”

I laughed and replied,
“Geez… I hadn’t thought about it. I guess I do.”

And off we went.

What a day.

I crawled into bed utterly exhausted, shoved in my earplugs, pulled on my eye mask, and fell asleep almost instantly.

Day 2

Vila Franca de Xira to… well… not quite where planned.
22 km walked.
39 km by train.
One pastry. One beer.
And a whole lot of patience with myself.

Breakfast at the hostel included eggs, bacon, yogurt, juice — the works. Other pilgrims sat eating together, but for some reason I intentionally left early. I wanted a quieter morning.

Funny enough, I got exactly what I asked for.

Over the next 22 km to Azambuja, I did not see a single pilgrim walking the route. Not one.

I followed the Camino markers carefully and kept wondering if everyone else knew some secret shortcut I didn’t.

Right near the edge of town, I noticed a backpack leaning against a lamppost beside a dog tied nearby. For one brief moment I thought, “I should have brought my dog, Charlie.” Thankfully, common sense returned quickly.

But the loneliness lingered.

Unlike the previous day, there were few shaded areas, no cafés to stop at, barely even a bench. The sun was relentless. My English friend’s “one-hour rule” became difficult because I knew if I sat down on the ground, there was a real chance I would simply stay there forever.

The biggest difference though wasn’t the heat. It wasn’t the distance. It wasn’t even my sore feet.

It was the silence.

No conversation.
No shared struggle.
No laughter.

Turns out my jokes aren’t nearly as funny when I’m the only audience, and even I got tired of my singing voice after several hours.

I was craving connection and couldn’t see another soul for miles. Literally.

By the time I reached Azambuja, I was exhausted, overheated, starving, and discovering a very unhappy toe that I’m hoping does not eventually sacrifice its toenail to the Camino gods.

My original accommodations were still another 16 km away.

I had a couple moments where sadness crept in. My feet felt done. I couldn’t imagine walking farther.

And then suddenly it hit me — I had literally been walking beside train tracks for hours.

Maybe the lesson wasn’t to push harder. Maybe the lesson was to adapt.

So I bought a train ticket.

When the train arrived, I found a seat beside an older man. I pointed to the empty seat and asked if I could sit there. He replied in Portuguese and nodded yes.

A few minutes later, after watching me study my map book, he asked in perfect English,
“Where are you going?”

Honestly, I almost hugged him.

Human connection had returned.

His name was Felipe. Along with his wife, he was returning from Lisbon to their farm farther north. Over the next while we talked about everything — travel, farming, life.

He told me he hitchhiked across Afghanistan in 1978 and crossed the Sahara Desert after getting married. He had spent his life sheep farming before retiring because his knees finally gave out.

At some point during our conversation, we realized I had missed my stop entirely.

I felt a wave of disappointment, and they both immediately noticed. Then came the most unexpected kindness: they invited me to stay at their farm.

It was much farther north than I wanted to travel this early in my Camino, so I thanked them sincerely and declined. But before I left, Felipe handed me their number and told me to call when I got closer.

I stepped off the train, typed “Vale de Figueira” into my maps, and walked toward the nearest hostel.

That shower?

Quite possibly one of the greatest moments of my life.

Two days.

One filled with companionship that made 27 km feel possible.
One filled with solitude that made 22 km feel heavy.

Same Camino. Different experience.

Maybe that’s true in life too.

Sometimes the road is manageable simply because someone is walking beside us.

I’m glad you’re here.

Until next time…there’s more to come.

XO